Darius sat on the cool floor, legs stretched out before him, one arm draped over a velvet cushion, the other idly toying with the edge of the tapestry that hung near his chair. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting a flickering glow across the chamber's high stone walls. His cousin stood at the window, pale fingers resting on the sill, her profile sharp against the dying light.
"Well?" he prompted again, more pointed this time. "Has a cat stolen your tongue? Did you take her to the spring?"
Livia did not look at him, though her shoulders tensed ever so slightly. "Yes," she said at last, the word clipped and unapologetic. "I took her."
Darius blinked, surprised by her bluntness. "You took her there?" he repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You, of all people, took her?"
